There is nothing of the present. Neither from the past. The future, then, is out of question.
Ilaiyaraaja’s music begins slow and stream-like from some yonder past, creating swells of indecipherable emotions as it flows through the present and then to a yonder space in the future.
The enigma is that all these happen in a moment, whenever that is on the timeline.
“Probably that is what you call timeless. Ilaiyaraaja clearly transcends time. His body of work is more about understanding music as the essence of life,” observes music composer M Jayachandran.
To him, Ilaiyaraaja’s splendid 50 years in film music — the milestone the maestro marked on May 14, 2026 — is a reminder of a revolution. “His is a genre that came from beyond genres. He combined Western techniques with the fragrance of folk with such ease that music seemed to emerge from a space where genres hold no meaning. Maybe that is why we still have youngsters turning to Ilaiyaraaja more and more,” Jayachandran notes. He remembers the eclectic mix of ‘Poove Sempoove’ as the song that leaves behind a lingering taste of longing for some unseen source of solace. The song is one among the many Ilaiyaraaja hits that continue to be played and rediscovered. A quick search on YouTube leads to countless covers of his classics, recreated and remixed not just by aspiring musicians but also by Gen Z and Alpha listeners.
It is for this timelessness that Ilaiyaraaja, fondly called ‘Isaignani’ — the saint of music — is celebrated as a legend as the music world remembers his entry into cinema 50 years ago. As theatres across Tamil Nadu blared out the debutant’s songs, not many would have realised that a musical revolution was unfolding. A revolution that began with Ilaiyaraaja, the charismatic ‘Young King’, and one that permanently altered the soundscape of Indian film music. Tamil cinema in the 1970s was already witnessing a silent shift in creative power centres, as younger filmmakers sought a new aural grammar to complement their evolving visual language. They found their sync in Ilaiyaraaja, who spearheaded a movement that transformed Tamil cinema and strongly influenced Malayalam cinema too. That change still lingers… even in 2026. Even while being seen as a “breaker of norms”, with songs such as ‘Kettela Ange’ from ‘Bhadrakali’ (1976) and ‘Oram Po’ from ‘Ponnu Oorukku Pudhusu’ (1979) reportedly banned on All India Radio, the maestro remained scrupulous in his musical education and work ethic.
“These aspects added to the musicality of his songs,” says music director Jakes Bejoy, who recalls his journeys to boarding school in Yercaud, punctuated by Ilaiyaraaja songs playing in buses and roadside tea shops.
“Even now, as I cross Walayar, I play Ilaiyaraaja songs and pair them with a filter coffee to get that earthy feel of Tamil Nadu.” Jakes feels this connection comes from the way Ilaiyaraaja educated himself in notation, Carnatic music, Western classical traditions, and instrumentation, only to merge all of them into tunes rooted deeply in folk sensibilities. “My favourites are ‘Valayosai’, ‘Kanmani’, and ‘Thumbi Vaa’. All these have Western structures, but the emotional base is local and earthy. It creates an identity that becomes part of cultural memory and gives a feeling of homecoming,” he says, explaining the continuing relevance of Ilaiyaraaja among younger musicians and listeners.
“What I admire most is his discipline. Talent can take you forward for five years, but if you want relevance without burnout, discipline is essential. Ilaiyaraaja is the epitome of discipline — showing up at 7am, fuelled by a few idlis, and composing music within hours, much of which became superhits. That itself became a brand of musicality.”
Another epoch-making feat in Ilaiyaraaja’s career came through symphonic music. He ventured into full-fledged Western classical composition — a rare accomplishment for an Indian composer.
One of his ambitious spiritual-classical works was ‘Thiruvasakam in Symphony’. In 2025, he performed ‘Valiant’, a 77-piece orchestral work following a four-movement structure atypical of European symphonies, becoming the first Indian composer to achieve such a feat.
His ability to symphonise Indian music is a towering hallmark, according to Carnatic ace Sreevalsan J Menon, who believes Ilaiyaraaja’s harmonising skills reflect a rare natural instinct. “When you listen to the jazz influences in his music, they feel born out of rustic Tamil landscapes rather than Broadway. Interpreting world influences within a local cultural setting — he is a master at that. And that talent comes naturally,” says Sreevalsan, humming ‘Yamunayatrile’ as one of his favourite Ilaiyaraaja compositions. “He’s a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon.”
On mentioning Ilaiyaraaja, singer-composer Job Kurian exclaims: “Melody King!” “The volume of his compositions, the range of his tunes, and their quality are things that will influence generations to come. They are revolutionary. His mastery over classical styles and fast compositions is deeply inspiring. He is a genius in every aspect, and I look up to him with the utmost respect,” he says. “As a composer myself, his works still baffle me. Some of the songs I love are ‘Rasathi Unna’, ‘Poove Sempoove’, ‘Jotheyali Jothe Jotheyali’ (Kannada), ‘Poomkattinodum Kilikalodum’, and ‘Unarumee Ganam’. The list is endless.” Job recalls collecting Ilaiyaraja’s cassettes and CDs during journeys, “constantly trying to discover his songs”. “He is someone I completely revere. After my time at Super Star show, I almost got an opportunity to work with him, but I backed out. I was scared. I don’t think I will ever be good enough to sing for him — he is that legendary,” he smiles.
Singer Anila Rajeev too lights up while speaking about Ilaiyaraaja. “His music has influenced me immensely. He is the Isaignani — a master of Indian and Western classical traditions. A true genius,” she says.
“I have heard stories of how quickly he worked — finishing re-recording sessions for an entire film in a single day while simultaneously handling multiple projects across languages. That speaks volumes about his musical brain.”
Anila says the magic of Ilaiyaraaja’s music is that “it always remains in the heart”. “Sundari Kannal, Rasathi Unna, Kanmani Anbodu, Thendral Vandhu Theendum, Olathumbathirunnooyalaadum, Thumbi Vaa… my list can go on forever. Magical.”
Composer and DJ Sekhar Menon, whose ‘Kiliye Kiliye’ remix became a nationwide rage, points to yet another magic of the maestro — his technical quest for innovation. In one of many firsts, Ilaiyaraaja became the first Indian composer to record a soundtrack on a computer for ‘Vikram’ (1986). His work in films such as ‘Mouna Ragam’ and ‘Nayakan’ showcased orchestral layering and stereo clarity that were uncommon in Indian cinema during the 1980s. He also popularised the use of synthesisers, electronic rhythm programming, and digital sequencing while retaining the emotional depth and melodic richness of Indian music. His innovations not only modernised Tamil film music but also elevated the technical standards of recording and background scoring across Indian cinema. Sekhar calls the maestro “a god of music”.
“In fact, I prayed to him in my mind before remixing his song,” he laughs. “I kept the additions minimal, taking extra-care to not mar the original layers,” he says. “With legends like Raaja sir, you can’t mess. I ensured the soul of the song remained intact. And that’s why it clicked.” Sekhar proudly adds that he has a huge vinyl collection of Ilaiyaraja songs. “What is interesting is that his works are so much in vogue that even record labels outside the country are also bringing out remastered versions of his songs,” Sekhar says, pointing to tracks released by Bombay Collections, a record label based in Germany. He believes the evergreen quality of Ilaiyaraaja’s music lies in the way it taps into human emotion, which by nature is timeless. “There is also a growing urge among youngsters to reconnect with their roots. Look at how Kiliye Kiliye crossed millions of views and inspired countless dance covers,” he says, adding that he still melts away whenever he listens to ‘Thumbi Vaa’.
So would any music-loving Malayali.
With inputs from Supriya